


Test Pilot

by lonelydriver



Category: Initial D
Genre: M/M, TakeShin, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelydriver/pseuds/lonelydriver
Summary: Shingo's EG6 hasn't met the pavement since his race with Takumi. He's itching to get behind the wheel again, but is he ready? Nakazato agrees to accompany him on the Myogi downhill to find out.
Relationships: Nakazato Takeshi/Shouji Shingo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Test Pilot

## Test Pilot

A [TakeShin] oneshot by: Iggy Oxenfrye  
_Suggested Listening: ‘Finale’ by Madeon, ‘Innocence’ by Madeon, ‘Burning Out’ by Thomston_

The summer heat that had burned alongside Shingo’s fury had long faded, leaving him with the lonely aftertaste of defeat founded upon red and yellowing leaves. Mount Myogi was the best place to wrestle with such an overwhelming amount of autumnal contempt; there’s not a single travel magazine that would hesitate to agree. At the summit, Gumna looked akin to heaven… but all Shingo could bring himself to glare at was his right arm, still aching subtly at any intimation of movement. It was a miracle that Nakazato was able to talk him into using the sling, but beyond that, Shingo hardly allowed himself the patience to heal.

“You sure about this, man?”

“I was sure about it the day I got out of the friggin’ hospital,” he used his left hand to wrench the driver’s side door open. The followthrough was strong enough to send a shooting pain into his right. Not an ounce of the agony played out on his tired, ever-furious features as he eased into the Mugen bucket seat. He hesitated above the passenger side lock. “You intend on stopping me?”

“I wish I could.” Nakazato’s submissive reply was enough to convince Shingo to open the door for him. The leader of the Night Kids drew a solemn line against the roof of the Civic before ducking inside, bidding a last farewell to the Milano Red which was soon to dilute in the wake of the sunset. Both doors closed in unison. “I do have one rule, though, I--”

“I don’t give a fuck about your rules,” Shingo had begun loosening the strap on his sling, allowing his forearm just enough room to snake out of it without much of a struggle. His hair veiled his eyes in a single brunette sheet, but his tone was more than enough to allude to the fact that they were smoldering with great severity. The sling settled in an unceremonious heap in his lap just as he began to fish about his burgundy hoodie for his car keys. With his sleeves bunched up to his biceps, the disparity in muscle mass from his right arm to his left was glaringly obvious, especially as he raised the weaker extremity with the intention of turning the engine over. “I came out here to drive my car -- my way. You’re lucky I let your sorry ass tag along.” The lanyard dangled idly at his knee before he gave the key a decisive twist.

The B16A engine growled to life, followed by a tremor that gently rocked the chassis of the EG6. The car was clearly adjusting to being used again after such a long hiatus. Shingo could feel Nakazato’s eyes concernedly fixated on his arm and made flustered work of tugging down his sleeves before settling on the steering wheel and shift knob respectively. Shortly thereafter, Nakazato sighed: “All I was gonna ask was that you don’t do any gum tape business. Let’s just run the downhill a couple times and get you your bearings back.”

Shingo said nothing. The Civic lurched into first gear.

“... you don’t need to worry about using your handbrake until about a third of the way in, just before the first checkpoint.”

“You say that like I haven’t done this before.”

“It’s been a while, Shingo.”

Because the beginning of the course was fairly straight, it allowed Shingo to flirt easily through gears without putting excessive strain on his steering hand, relearning the capabilities of his lightweight flywheel as his RPM gauge danced about freely. The distinctive wail of the VTEC entered shortly after, just as the red needle overtook 5500. His driving was no less aggressive -- if not more vehement -- with his handicap. Nakazato was impressed, but he knew the rage beneath his talent was volatile, and would prove especially risky once drifting played into the equation of the Myogi downhill.

“Shingo,” he anticipated being cut off, but after a moment of wordlessness filled by mechanical ballad, he continued: “The first corner is coming up, don’t attack it full-throttle. This isn’t a race.”

Shingo was far too immersed to hear Nakazato’s suggestion. The road no longer kicked up golden leaf litter, rather, it was the splash of tail lights on his dash, unquestionably those of the eight-six. The incriminating scarlet shine brought his blood to a boil -- his grip on the steering wheel so tight that he’d inspired tears into his eyes -- and motivated him to smother his foot into the acceleration.

“Shingo. _Shingo_ ,” Nakazato’s attention left the road and found the racer’s features warped by anguish and the onset of the rapidly approaching curve. He wasn’t going to stop. “ **Shoji, the corner**!”

Instinctively, Shingo’s knuckles went white around the handbrake, engaging it in vain. The rear wheels locked and the rear end failed him moments after, swinging out beyond his control. Reality returned to him swiftly, terrified as his headlights smeared across the asphalt and the spin-out gained momentum. Subconsciously taking Nakazato’s words into account: ‘This isn’t a race’, he felt no need to salvage an arbitrary position and focused entirely on saving the EG6. He did everything in his power to force the vehicle right, but the gluttonous oversteer sent it into a two-hundred-and-seventy degree spin as the car was overwhelmed by the weight transfer. He closed his eyes and anticipated the worst.

“Shingo, _what the hell!?_ ” Nakazato was nearly breathless, clutching his seatbelt in a trembling grasp. Shingo’s eyes snapped open, only to find that everything was… still. The only thing that convinced him of time being a constant were the leaves that settled complacently on the hood. The leader of the Night Kids intended to chastise him further, but stopped dead in his tracks as Shingo lifted his head to face him. He looked… godawful. Tears raged down his complexion, flushed with embarrassment and shame. It hurt more to look Nakazato in the eyes than it did to bear the profound pain in his arm. The throbbing sensation rendered him speechless, unable to part his teeth for fear of audibly sobbing. His shoulders could no longer support his head, which he dropped involuntarily into the headrest.

“Let’s… let’s just get the car out of the road, okay?” Nakazato chose his words carefully, fighting the sickness that came with having to see his best racer amidst such torment. Shingo tilted his gaze, a pathetic glance that said ‘I can’t’. Nakazato was nearly moved to tears, but he managed to keep his features indifferent. “Yes, you can,” he nodded through Shingo’s silent but furious denial. “You can, Shingo, I know you can.”

“It hurts so fucking bad, Takeshi,” he spoke just above a whisper, completely exasperated. He brought his good hand abhorrently down onto the center console, crying out a string of curses that hardly sounded human. “I can’t fucking do it. I can’t. I never could, and you knew that. None of you have ever believed in me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” a prang of anger found its way into Nakazato’s voice. “Shingo, if I didn’t think you were capable, you wouldn’t be on my team. If nobody thought you had ‘it’, the team wouldn’t be divided over allegiance. You’re letting one loss get in your head. You’re letting that kid take away so much more than just a title. One stupid race and it’s dashing your spirit to pieces… what’s gotten into you?”

“You wouldn’t understand--”

“I lost to the kid first!” Nakazato was very clearly getting worked up. He raked a shaky hand through his thickly gelled hair, trying to satiate his infamous temper whilst remaining firm. “I get it, man. Your ego’s shot, your arm got fucked, your car got fucked-- you want to hate him but somewhere along the way you wind up hating yourself and wondering how in the hell you let it all happen.” An accusatory finger found its way to Shingo’s chest. “Well, Shingo, truth is: we aren’t the masters of the fucking universe. Things happen that are out of our control, and we’ve just got to take them in stride. Be better for it, or whatever. Now get your car out of the middle of the road and let’s finish this thing!”

“Forget about it, you’re the one who said I wasn’t ready for this,” Shingo bitterly swept the heel of his palm under his lower lashes, still brimming with tears. Surrender twinkled in his eyes as brightly as he’d sworn the Trueno’s tail lights had poured onto the Civic. “Let’s just go back.”

“You finish this or you’re off my team,” Nakazato’s concern evolved rapidly into frustration. It killed him -- having to be so hard on Shingo -- but he knew it was the only feasible way to get through to him. The threat was very much real. “I don’t care if it’s the worst run of your life. We’re Night Kids, and we finish what we start.”

Shingo’s teeth ground together like an ameteur fumbling though gears. The dizzying pain in his arm finally started to fade, leaving him with just enough headspace to stomp in the clutch and get the car rolling. Nakazato bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from smiling.

“It’ll be hard to pick up speed this far into the course. Back up into the straightaway a few carlengths.”

“Don’t tell me how to drive,” Shingo’s usual ill-mannered gusto resurfaced in an instant. He watched Nakazato from his peripheral, just enough to keep him from slipping back into delusion. His arm still hurt like hell, but he reckoned it was determination that caused it to ache so fiercely, now. The next corner came and went, a perfectly average drift that left him unsatisfied, desperate for something faster. It was this feeling, coupled with the high-pitched whine of the VTEC, that completely absolved the pain in his arm and filled him with nothing short of euphoria. Only now did he experience the true grief of his interlude; only now could he prevail above it as each corner was attacked with exponentially increasing zeal.

Whatever was bubbling in Nakazato’s sternum came out as a laugh, fiercely ignorant of his usual temperament which was cautious -- stoic, even. It was enough to make Shingo bristle… and immediately join in the careless expression of joy. He stole glances at his passenger in the delicate moments between drifts; the sight of Nakazato’s painted eyelids crinkled inward cheerily -- when paired an equally enthusiastic smile -- was enough to make him florid. Their outburst somehow prevailed over the Civic’s signature squeal, and lasted for most of the descent.

“Shingo!” He began in a moment of total vulnerability, one that would surely redirect his fate. 

"Yeah!?” 

"I think I’m in love with you!”

The EG6 soared around the final bend of the course, sailing down the stretch of asphalt which lie before the faded finish line. It screeched to a halt moments before crossing it. Shingo’s body was trembling long after the suspension settled.

“Why?” He asked bluntly -- ‘why’, not ‘what’. He kept both hands stitched into the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Nakazato couldn’t find the words to speak, let alone the right ones; the absolute silence was unbearable for Shingo. “Why… why would you say something like that?”

“Because I mean it!--”

“Why?”

Nakazato swallowed down a frustrated growl. “That’s the hard part…” Completely exasperated, he hid in his own reflection glimmering faintly in the nearest rear-view mirror. “You’re an incredibly talented driver, but that’s not it, or I’d love Takumi. You make me proud, but that’s not it either, or I’d love every guy on the team. No, it’s,” at this point he was merely vocalizing his thoughts. “It’s so much more than either of those things. You’re like the fire at my heels, and you’ll burn me alive if I falter a half-step. You should scare the shit out of me, but you’re… exciting. You keep me from complacency, which scares me more than anything. I never want to be satisfied with anything… until I think about how badly I want you at my back for the rest of my-- no. Shingo, I want you beside me. Until the end.”

Finally daring to look back at Shingo, he’d discover that the driver’s reciprocating stare was accentuated by a jagged smirk. Typical Shingo, but what he couldn’t hide with a shit-eating grin were the anxious bouncing of his knee and the blush accumulating on the tips of his ears. “Well I was wondering when you’d figure it out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nakazato could relax a little, though his heart still hammered like a fuel injector. Having never made such a confession, he didn’t know what to declare beyond it. Shingo seemed unfazed aside from the incrimination of nervous habit, but he also didn’t seem particularly inclined to offer an affirmation or a denial. “That was really hard for me to say, you know,” the insult he took was only half-sincere. “You could at least give me some semblance of an answer.”

“Let’s head back up, yeah?” The response stunned Nakazato to his core, and all the discarded feelings of uncertainty came rushing back to him. Shingo raised a brow, irked at Nakazato’s unresponsiveness. He managed a fragile ‘mhm’ before averting his gaze forward and picking idly at his watch. The civic hummed lowly in reverse.

...he pretended not to notice Shingo’s tears as they began a very quiet trek back to the mountaintop.

\---

Although the sunset had since past, Gunma was still a wonder to behold from what felt like the pinnacle of the universe to Shingo Shoji and Takeshi Nakazato. The teammates blew smoke out of the lifted hatchback and into the night, dotted with stars as dizzy as the haze that slipped from their semi-parted lips. They made idle banter, dancing tactlessly around what had been admitted at the end of Shingo’s run. The atmosphere between them wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it was overwhelmingly heavy. 

“You gonna let me race this Saturday?”

“Please,” Nakazato scoffed into a slow drag, mesmerized by the twinkling ember mere inches from his nose. Fire always reminded him of Shingo. He shook his head and pulled away from the cigarette. “I know I’m not making that decision. Welcome back to the action.”

“Do you think I’m ready?” Shingo slotted his hands into his hoodie pockets and stretched the material briefly past his knees. The question, not unlike the other things Shingo had occupied their conversation with this evening, sent him for a loop. Why did he care?

“Honestly, no,” Nakazato couldn’t lie to him if he wanted to. He could, however, feign nonchalance. “But that’s just because I’m compromised.”

“How do you mean?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” The last of Nakazato’s cigarette crumbled onto his shirt shortly before being discarded and smothered beneath his heel. He felt his back pocket for more; the box caved under the weight of his fingertips -- empty. “You know what I mean, and you either feel the same way or you don’t. Don’t be an ass.”

“Dude, chill out,” Shingo put out his cigarette against his belt and discarded it in a similar fashion. His own pack of smokes was then swiftly retrieved, thumbing out two sticks and offering one in Nakazato’s direction. He continued as the offering was accepted. His lighter followed. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“How can you say that?”

Shingo raised the lighter to his partner against the wind, lingering as the tobacco began to smolder and curl into itself. Nakazato shied away from the light, but made a point to persist mere inches from Shingo’s forehead. The Civic driver quieted the flame with a skillful twitch of his index finger and lit his own cigarette against Nakazato’s. There was at least one respectful bone is his body, and it gave him the sense to turn his head to exhale before returning to the intimate distance between them. 

“I mean,” His unoccupied hand smoothed over the folds on Nakazato’s polo. “Nothing is really going to change, is it? It’s always been this way.” He cut the life of his cigarette short, and his grip on Nakazato became decisive, encouraging their bodies to meet. Their disparity in height usually wasn’t obvious, but at such an amatory distance, Nakazato’s advantage was clear. “If you want it in writing, fine. Sorta thought it was obvious, but -- I love you too.”

That was all Nakazato needed to hear. His cigarette fell involuntarily from his lips before they were joined with Shingo’s, a kiss that was surprisingly innocent and novice given Shingo’s attitude. For a moment, however brief, Shingo had no need to be so viciously defensive, nor was he a product of vengeance and tragic lack of self-esteem . He was himself, whoever that might’ve been. Feeling that authenticity was damning -- Nakazato knew from that point forward he was irreversibly enamored with the fire at his heel, and the accompanying smoke that nobody else bothered to notice.

“Satisfied?” Shingo was visibly sheepish, and didn’t go to obnoxious lengths to conceal it. Holding Nakazato felt rather parallel to being behind the wheel of the EG6: painless, but most importantly, right.

“Never.”


End file.
